WATTS - Michael "Big Mike" Cummings stands in front of David Starr Jordan High School on a warm Thursday afternoon.

At nearly 6 feet 2 inches tall and about 380 pounds, 49-year-old Big Mike is the kind of man you'd want to meet in a dark alley.

He'd buy you a sandwich and give you a ride home.

Dressed in tan khakis and a red-and-black woven shirt, he recalls "creating a lot of havoc" in the violent world of Watts' notorious public housing projects.

Big Mike now gets up at 4 a.m. several days a week to make a 95-mile drive from Apple Valley to help students avoid gang violence on the way to and from school.

"So while they're at school, they'll be able to learn and do all they can to get their education," he says.

The program is called Safe Passages and is a part of the nonprofit We Care Outreach Ministries, which he founded with his wife Sauna in 1999.

Big Mike ran the streets of Watts until he turned his life around after a 24-month sentence in jail.

"I got caught up dealing drugs, and then after that I got caught up using drugs," he says. "I ended up doing an attempted robbery, went to jail and it changed my life."

The transformation was sparked by the first Scripture verse his mother sent him while he was locked away.

Matthew 6:33: "But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."

Big Mike is now an ordained minister in the Church of God in Christ denomination.

"I just dedicated my life to showing kids the right way and letting them ride on what mistakes I made," he says.

The California Wellness Foundation has honored him with a $25,000 Peace Prize for his efforts.

Big Mike, who makes a living through his towing business, turns inside and walks toward the gym to watch a junior varsity basketball game.

There, he meets with Andre "Low Down" Christian, a boulder of a man with a massive chest and thick arms.

His hair is pulled back in braids. He has a scar on his left cheek. He's been shot 13 times.

A gang intervention specialist, Low Down joins Big Mike on the bleachers.

He says his biggest regret about the gang life was "the hurt I put on other people. I'm glad I lived it out, (so now I can) help others."

After a low-scoring first quarter, Low Down and Big Mike agree to meet at Watts Towers. Big Mike ambles back to the main entrance of the school.

The final bell rings. Students pour out of class. Big Mike stands on East 103rd Street.

"My concern is from here, this way," he says, pointing west to the Jordan Downs housing project. "We got no groups gathering, no one holding steel. Everything's looking good now. We're gonna move up the street."

He climbs into his gray van and turns on some music. Old soul drips out of the speakers. Big Mike likes the Chi-Lites.

On a corner he meets with "Elementary" and "Chilly Will". Big Mike laughs and says everyone has a street name. He can name young people and street veterans alike, as he drives through Watts.

"If you want to be effective in stopping violence, you got to know everybody," Big Mike says.

Elementary and Chilly Will wear fluorescent green vests. They also help kids get home. It's a team effort by those who have seen unspeakable violence during their decades on the block.

Big Mike catches up with a another friend on the corner. They sing a hymn while Elementary talks Watts.

"As far as the projects, it's just everyday people trying to survive," he says. "Good people. Working people. (But) mis-education and economic strangulation are the mother and father of violence."

Big Mike is ready to roll. He wants to check on more volunteers. And the kids.

He drives past San Miguel Elementary School and Markham Middle School. Along the way he honks his horn and waves at passersby: Big Hank. A kid he tells to get back on the sidewalk. An old friend who blew his mind on angel dust.

He stops at Watts Towers. Low Down is there. So is 52-year-old Donny Joubert from the Nickerson Gardens housing project.

"I think the things we accomplished, it just makes the community better," Joubert says.

They're joined by Cynthia "Sista Soulja" Mendenhall. The 50-year-old Crip-turned-peace activist doesn't want to be confused with the rapper of the same name.

"I'm not fiction," she says.

Sista Soulja lost a son to gang violence in 2006. Anthony Owens Jr. was gunned down in the Imperial Courts housing project, where the PJ Crips reign. The 25-year-old man was not a member of the gang.

Sista Soulja speaks of peace in the same way a veteran gangster would talk about his turf.